


Pulling Strings: Extras

by pipermca



Series: Black on White on Black [7]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, IDW-based AU, M/M, Post-War, Rape/Non-con Elements, Transformers Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing, see chapter notes for tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-06-05 12:13:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15170534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipermca/pseuds/pipermca
Summary: This contains all the extra scenes that didn't make it into Pulling Strings.Individual scenes range from General Audience to Mature. See the notes at the beginning of each chapter for rating, warnings and relevant tags.





	1. What Friends Are For

**Author's Note:**

> _SPOILERS AHEAD_ if you have not yet read [Pulling Strings](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14529417/chapters/33570267).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first story takes place after the end of [Chapter 4](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14529417/chapters/34099614).  
>  **Rating:** General Audience  
>  **Relationship:** Bluestreak/Hound  
>  No warnings, no special tags.
> 
> (Normally I denote comms with ::double colons:: but since the bulk of the dialogue here is over a communications line, that just seemed silly.)

The tents were set up, the generator was powered on, the fuel had been warmed, and Hound was just going over the itinerary for the next day when he received Bluestreak’s comm.

Hound sent a glyph to tell Blue to stand by, and then looked up at the group leader, who was still poring over the map laid out between them. “Tomorrow will take us through the Crystal Forest as we swing back towards Iacon City,” Hound said. “There’s a stand of crystals there that’s over a hundred meters tall. It’s a popular spot to stop for image captures and mid-day fuel.”

Lightbraid nodded, tapping a digit against her lips thoughtfully. “Where will that place us for getting back to Iacon?”

Hound shrugged. “It’s up to you. We can camp again on the far side of the forest, and then have a quick drive into the city the next morning. Or we can push through and get into Iacon early evening tomorrow.”

The Camien nodded again. “I’ll ask around to see what everyone would prefer, and then go from there,” she said. As she stood up, she smiled at Hound. “This has been just a wonderful trip so far. You’ve gone out of your way to accommodate us at every turn.”

“It’s what we do!” Hound said with a smile. “We want to make sure you have the best time possible when we take you into the outback.”

“We will definitely be recommending you to all of our friends,” Lightbraid said. “Now, I know this is about the time you usually get a call from your partner...”

Hound laughed. “He’s holding right now while I finish up.”

Lightbraid’s visor brightened and she waved her hand. “Then I won’t keep you, Hound. Tell him I said hello!” She turned and headed back to the circle of Camiens gathered around the lit generator.

Hound grabbed his cube of warmed fuel and stepped further away from the generator. The perimeter sensors pinged at him as he crossed their boundary, and he opened the comm from Bluestreak. “Hi Blue. Sorry about the wait. I was just going over the plan for tomorrow with Lightbraid. She says hi, by the way.”

“That’s ok! I didn’t mind waiting. Did you have a good day?” Bluestreak asked.

“It was very good.” Hound took a sip of his fuel and looked up at the stars scattered across the sky. “If this group was any more laid back I don’t think we’d ever get anywhere. I think they’re just happy to get out of the city. How was your day? Did you get that hole patched in the barn roof like you mentioned yesterday?”

“No.” Bluestreak’s voice suddenly held a note of tension. “Something came up that I need to talk to you about.”

“What’s wrong? Are you all right?” Hound instinctively turned towards their homestead as if he could see Bluestreak on the horizon, even though he was several hundred klicks away. “You didn’t have another memory leak, did you?” Bluestreak had been having fewer and fewer flashbacks to Praxus and the war as time went on, but they still happened occasionally. Hound tensed as he thought of Bluestreak having to deal with one of his flashbacks alone, with no one at his side.

“I’m fine, Hound. Sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you. Maybe I should have worded it differently.” Bluestreak sent a glyph of apology. “No, it’s just that I told Jazz he could stay with us for a little while. I hope that’s ok. I didn’t want to surprise you with that when you got home, all tired from the road.”

Hound relaxed and took another sip of fuel. “Oh, that’s fine. And I certainly don’t mind Jazz staying with us. But what’s up?” Hound couldn’t think of any reason that Jazz would need to stay with them; he and Prowl lived in the city, much closer to Visages and the parties that Jazz usually played at. And the worried note he’d heard in Bluestreak’s voice still bothered Hound.

“I got a comm this morning from Smokescreen. I hadn’t heard this, but I guess some of Jazz’s friends have been noticing that he hasn’t really been himself. He’s been kind of quiet, and acting like there was something bothering him. Although I guess we haven’t seen Jazz in a while, so we wouldn’t have noticed.” Bluestreak hummed thoughtfully for a moment before rattling on with his explanation. “Everyone kept checking with Jazz to see if there was anything they could do, but he just insisted everything was fine even when it was obvious to everyone that it wasn’t fine. But what could they do? Yes?” Bluestreak paused when he got a ping from Hound indicating that he had a question, a system they had established centuries ago so that Hound could get a word in edgewise without interrupting the Praxian.

“Who’s everyone? Surely Prowl would have gotten some help for Jazz if something was really the matter with him,” Hound said. Prowl and Jazz were just as close, if not closer, than Hound and Bluestreak. Hound couldn’t even conceive of not getting help for Bluestreak if there was something obviously wrong with him, beyond his known issues.

Bluestreak pinged back a glyph of sorrow. “Everyone means everyone... **Except** Prowl. Smokescreen got a comm from Jazz this morning, and Jazz said that he needed to get away, out of town preferably, and away from Prowl.” The sorrowful glyph came through again. “That’s what Jazz told Smokescreen, specifically: he needed to get away from Prowl.”

Hound was momentarily stunned into silence. “Why would Jazz want to get away from Prowl?” he finally asked. 

“I don’t know,” Bluestreak said, his emotion now evident in his voice. “But something’s happened between them. Of course I told Smokescreen that he could bring Jazz out, and when they got here...” Bluestreak’s vocalizer crackled with static for a moment. “Oh, Hound. Jazz just sat on the couch and sobbed into my shoulder for almost half a groon. He hardly even said anything, he just cried.” 

Hound tried to imagine the saucy and playful Polyhexian sobbing, and failed. “I’m glad you were there for him,” he said quietly. “It’s just so... I wonder what happened?”

Bluestreak sent him a combined glyph for uncertainty and resignation, the Praxian’s own shorthand for a shrug. “After he finally calmed down, I took him out to see Homer and Marge to get his mind off of whatever it is. I showed him the spare room not too much longer after that, and he’s been in recharge ever since.”

“How long do you think he’ll need to stay with us?” Hound asked, his processor sifting through the jobs they had coming up. “We don’t have anything coming up soon, not for a few deca-cycles I think.”

“I’m not sure, but we’ll work something out,” Bluestreak said. “Anyway, it’ll be nice having someone else here, especially while you’re away.” 

Hound smiled as he looked back up at the stars. “I’ll be back soon,” he said. “And it won’t be too much longer before you’ll be itching to get me back on the road again and out of your circuits.”

“Never!” Bluestreak giggled. “Besides, I think the next outing is mine... That group from Kaon wants to go hunting hellhounds again.”

Hound felt his spark twirl at hearing his sparkmate’s laughter. “That’s right. Well, regardless, I’ll be home soon... Either late tomorrow, or the next cycle. Then we can figure out what we can do for Jazz.”

“If he’ll tell us,” Bluestreak said, his voice going quiet. “I guess he’ll tell us when he’s ready. But until then, I’m fine with him staying here.”

“Me too,” replied Hound. There was a long pause, and Hound could keenly feel the distance between them. “I wish I was home with you now,” he added. “If you need **anything** , comm me right away so that we can talk, all right?”

Hound knew that Bluestreak understood what he meant: that if Bluestreak felt the least bit overwhelmed and needed someone to talk to, Hound would make time for him, even if it meant stopping the tour for a groon or so. “I will,” Bluestreak promised. “But like you said, you’ll be home soon. I’ll be fine.”

After another pause, Hound asked, “What star are you looking at right now?”

He heard Bluestreak’s quick vent of air at the familiar question. “Osvega,” Bluestreak replied. “It’s twinkling a lot tonight from the heat rising from Iacon.”

Hound spun on his heel, locating the star that Bluestreak was looking at. “It’s pretty solid here,” he said. 

“Drive safe tomorrow, Hound,” said Bluestreak. “And I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Hound replied. He dimmed his optics, picturing Bluestreak standing next to the porch of their house, looking up at the same stars as he was. “Tell Jazz I said hello. And give Homer and Marge pats for me.”

“I will. Have a good night.”

“’Night, Blue.”

Hound stood outside the camp for several kliks after the comm connection was closed. He shuttered his optics, listening to the sounds of the outback’s night around him and scenting the wind. A turbofox crept through the brush to his right, while a glitchmouse scampered from one hidey-hole to another. Somewhere distant, he could scent a herd of nosoron moving across the plains. He made a mental note to look for signs of them tomorrow. 

When a burst of laughter came from the mechs gathered around the generator, Hound’s optics flew open again. He took a moment to resettle his field into its usual calm state. Then he strode back into camp, a smile on his lips, as he slipped back into the role of guide.


	2. Spinup, Taken Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spinup was sure that this job was in the bag: he'd be paid handsomely, and Prowl would be disposed of cleanly. But he could not resist having Jazz one more time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place during the first scene of [Chapter 6](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14529417/chapters/34442427), but is told from Spinup's point of view.  
>  **Rating:** Mature  
>  **Paring:** Jazz/OC  
>  **Warnings:** Non-con elements, mentions of mind control, POV of abuser

He was exhausted. Even after working long into the night and then spending almost the entire cycle in the office, he still wasn’t caught up with where he needed to be.

He was so close, though. He could almost taste the payout.

Spinup transformed as he reached the building with Prowl’s flat. The Praxian’s transformation process came smoothly to him now, so much so that it felt almost as though he’d been doing it forever. And even though the powerful engine in this frame felt luxurious as he sped home on the highways, Spinup could not wait to get back onto his own two wheels.

Although... He **would** like to interface a few more times in this frame before they disposed of the Praxian. Once again, Spinup thought about contacting Prowl’s conjunx to see when he planned to be back in town. The buymechs Spinup had purchased few cycles ago had been an excellent distraction, but they didn’t have the same depth of Jazz’s musically-tuned processor. To use one of the ancient Earth idioms that Prowl had stored in his memory banks, the buymechs scratched an itch, but they didn’t cure it. 

Just thinking about Prowl’s highly-sensitive sensor arrays sent thrills down his frame. He would need to see if it was possible to purchase a similar sensor suite once he was back in his own frame.

Well, of course it was possible. He would have enough money to make anything possible, after this job was done.

Spinup bit back a laugh. Prowl didn’t laugh at himself as he walked. He needed to stay in character. He wasn’t in the building yet.

He was still mulling over whether it would be in character for him to contact Jazz just to see how the musician’s “gig” in Kaon was going (that was something conjunxes did, right? Checking on each other while they were apart?) when he heard the music filtering out of the flat.

Music! Did that mean Jazz was back? He shivered as a thrill of charge suddenly rose in his lines. 

The music also made Prowl’s processor threads stir, picking out the notes and associating the sound with his conjunx. Hope and affection and fear rose like smoke through Spinup’s connection to the frame. With a quiet snarl, Spinup isolated the threads and forced them back into dormancy. Prowl’s personality matrix had gone silent after Jazz had left town. It had been a relief not to have to fight the Praxian for control of his frame.

No matter. Spinup could keep him contained for a while longer. Long enough to make use of his conjunx’s processor again, anyway.

Keying open the door quickly, Spinup came around the corner and saw Jazz sitting at his keyboard. The Polyhexian was playing a song Spinup didn’t recognize; then again, he rarely recognized any songs that Jazz played. He had never paid that much attention to music.

“Jazz,” Spinup said quickly, lifting his door wings. It was odd how easily he used them to express himself these days.

The visored mech spun around on the bench to stare at him with a look of surprise on his face, before standing up languidly. “Hey Prowler,” he drawled, appearing far more relaxed than he had just a moment before. “Just made it home from Kaon this mornin’. Sorry I didn’t comm ya to tell ya that I was comin’.”

Spinup set the data pads he was carrying down on the desk. “I would have appreciated a note saying that you were on your way. But I did miss you...” Spinup shivered, thinking of the last time he’d interfaced with the musician and the unbelievable overload he’d had. He reached a hand towards Jazz’s face. “You, and that delicious processor of yours.” 

With a delightful laugh, Jazz twirled past Spinup’s hand and traipsed into the kitchen. “Don’t ya want to know how my trip went?” he asked. He grabbed a cube and dispensed some energon into it before handing it to Spinup. “After all, this was the first gig I had out that way.”

Spinup took the cube but immediately set it aside. He’d fueled before leaving the office; right now, all he wanted was the burn of data running through his cables. And frankly, he didn’t give a slag about Jazz’s work. He walked around the island kitchen and reached a hand towards the musician again, grabbing him by the hand. “You can tell me about it later. Right now I only want you.”

Jazz stared into Spinup’s optics, his expression difficult to read behind his visor. Spinup briefly wondered whether Jazz would be averse to taking off the visor; seeing his optics flare to white as the data flowed through his processer would only add to the experience. Then, Jazz’s field flashed bright with interest, and he smiled brightly. “Who am I to turn down an invitation like that?” Jazz asked. 

The Polyhexian dragged the tip of a digit across Spinup’s hip port, and all of Spinup’s interface protocols onlined at once. _He’s so ready. So willing,_ Spinup thought, barely even noticing as Jazz spun them so that Spinup was up against the counter. 

Planting a sharp kiss against Spinup’s chin, Jazz asked “How about once here, then we go again in my room?”

Twice! That was even more than Spinup had dared hope for. Jazz must want it as much as he did. “That would be agreeable,” Spinup said, struggling to maintain Prowl’s vocal quirks even as the charge rose in his stolen frame’s circuitry. His port was already open, even though he didn’t remember issuing the command to open it, and he struggled to unspool the cable with trembling digits. 

Jazz took the cable from Spinup’s unsteady hand. “Allow me, lover,” Jazz purred, and smoothly slotted their cables into each other’s ports. 

Spinup’s vents stalled as Jazz sent him a large packet of data over the connection. [[Just like I remember. That processor of yours... It is so irresistible.]] He gritted his dentae as he struggled to issue overrides to his firewalls to remain up. It wouldn’t do for Jazz to find out who he was really interfacing with, not when they were so close to their goal. The packet that Jazz had sent him was filled with sensory data: touches to transformation seams, mouths and glossa smeared on plating, sparks cascading down cabling as charge built. It was divine.

But Spinup needed more.

[[Now, Jazz. Now. I need you.]]

Spinup moaned as Jazz pressed their lips together, nipping lightly. [[Take it, lover. Take whatever you need.]]

Jazz’s invitation was almost more than Spinup could handle. To be invited to max out the connection, to have a partner so eager to feel the burn in their processor and to send that sensation across the hardline, was more than Spinup had ever been given before. He poured data through into Jazz’s interface port, and then pulled every byte of data back through. Among the data was the pain that Jazz was feeling; the sense of losing control, and fear, tinged with a slight touch of panic, all amplified by Prowl’s sensor array... 

It was intoxicating.

Spinup knew his helm was rocked back as he surrendered himself to the raw power, and he could feel Jazz pressing himself into Spinup. He felt Jazz say something over the hardline that he didn’t catch, but whatever Jazz wanted didn’t matter... What mattered was getting more power, more data, because Spinup had never felt anything like this before, not even in his previous times with Jazz. [[More. I need **more**.]]

This time, he felt Jazz’s reply. [[You want more, ya fragger? Here it is.]] 

Spinup’s processor only had time to acknowledge the receipt of the message before everything went wrong.

 **Something** came through along with the data that Spinup was pulling from Jazz: something foreign that unfurled into numbing lines of code and snippets of decoy processes. By the time his firewalls recognized the program for the danger that it was and sent the command to the control chip to launch the defensive program, the damage was done.

Spinup’s firewalls shattered with a cascade of pain. He reflexively tried to cry out, but every motor control he had was frozen. Every cable went taut and every actuator froze as his engine – as **Prowl’s** engine – squealed loudly in protest.

The last thing Spinup saw was the unholy grin on Jazz’s face before the connection failed with a confusion of artifacts and static.

Everything was cold. Diagnostics popped up on his HUD, showing the progress of his reboot. Spinup took a rattling vent, then another. His core temperature was low, but rising slowly. His processor and interface protocols, which had been busy pulling charge through a hardline, pinged back error messages as the hardline it had been accessing suddenly could not be found. And a burn was slowly settling over his helm, centered between his optics, which were still offline and cold.

He was back in his own frame. 

_No. **No!** How did they know?_

Spinup struggled to sit up, but his frame control was not yet online. He issued a priority command to online his optics and audials. A moment later he stared up at the ceiling of the safe room his frame was being stored in. It was dark. 

With his spark thrumming in its chamber, Spinup accessed his comms and pinged Hardhelm.

No answer.

He heard a loud thump from the next room.

His panic rising, Spinup tried to contact Blueprint. Again, there was no answer. 

Spinup tried every contact on his list that was connected to the plan to subvert the Council’s decision on the New Praxus contract. None of them answered. 

Spinup was alone.

Suddenly, light flooded the room. He heard a dozen different voices all shouting, and Spinup’s optics went wide as he looked down the barrel of a rifle that was aimed at his helm.

Spinup tried to speak. He tried to move. He tried to do anything except stare at the end of the weapon that was so close to him. But his frame was still warming up, and all of his peripheral systems were still coming online.

“Hellhound three to command, we have the target,” said a voice. 

“Looks like he’s just booting up,” said a second voice. There was a pause, and the soft chime of metal on metal. “Stasis cuffs activated.”

“Spinup, if you can hear me: you are under arrest for the unlawful use of a processor control device, unlawful interfacing, unlawful access to secure documents, forcible confinement, forgery, and fraud. Other charges may be added at the discretion of the court.” The light shifted, and a mech leaned into Spinup’s field of vision. “And let me tell you, buddy... You fragged off the wrong bunch of mechs.”


	3. Private Encore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many vorn ago, Jazz was part of a trio with Blaster and Soundwave headlining a music festival in Iacon. Prowl found the music they produced *very* inspiring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The events in this chapter are discussed in [Chapter 7](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14529417/chapters/34554770) while Jazz and Prowl attempt to interface for the first time since the attack. (So this is basically a flashback to that event.)
> 
>  **Rating:** Mature  
>  **Paring:** Jazz/Prowl  
>  **Warnings:** Plug-n-play interfacing, public sex

Prowl sat stiffly in his seat and turned down the sensitivity of his audio sensors for the third time that evening. The other festival attendees sitting around him in the VIP section were screaming enthusiastically even though all that was visible on the stage were two elaborate mixing stations and a microphone. Prowl couldn’t imagine the crowd could get any louder once Jazz’s set began, but he’d already been proven wrong twice so far this evening.

He didn’t mind listening to the type of music that Jazz played at Visages, and he even looked forward to attending his performances there. The music Jazz played at the club ranged from calming to raucous, but it was not the audial-rending horror that Prowl had been subjected to all evening. He had already decided that as soon as Jazz’s set was over, he was going home.

Prowl hadn’t asked Jazz for a VIP ticket to his performance, nor had he requested the backstage pass for after the show. But his conjunx had offered it, giving Prowl one of those smiles that he couldn’t resist. And although the music festival featured styles of music that Prowl was not interested in **at all** , he accepted the pass. After all, Jazz was very excited about this performance... And if Jazz was excited about it, Prowl was excited for him. 

“This is probably gonna be one of the most talked-about sets of the whole festival,” Jazz had explained. “I mean, when was the last time you saw Blaster and Soundwave together on stage? And that they invited me to sing…” He had grinned at Prowl. “I’d totally be lyin’ if I said I wasn’t flattered.”

Jazz was right that having Blaster and Soundwave together on stage for the first time since the war ended was a huge event. The two host mechs had been bitter enemies through most of the war, and their animosity endured even after the war officially ended. But somehow, Jazz had managed to convince both of them into first exchanging messages, then comms, then meeting for energon, and then… Well, the next thing Prowl knew was that they were headlining the Iacon New Music Festival as a duo.

Prowl smiled slightly. He knew first hand that Jazz could be very convincing when he put his mind to it.

Unbelievably, the volume being emitted by the mechs sitting around him increased yet again as the lights on the stage came up, illuminating the red and blue host mechs standing at the mixing stations. Then, a white and black racing frame strode straight to the microphone from the back of the stage.

As the screaming from the crowd got louder, Jazz took the microphone in hand. “I’m gonna assume y’all know the two mechs up here,” he said, and the crowd cheered. “But just in case yer lost…” Jazz spun to his left. “This solid mech here is Blaster.” The crowd screamed, and Blaster waved, a wide grin on his face. Jazz turned to his right. “And his frame brother here is Soundwave.” The blue mech, as inscrutable as ever behind his visor and blast mask, raised his hand in a salute. “Together,” said Jazz, “they are The Sound Systems!”

The roar from the crowd was deafening. Prowl lowered his audio sensitivity yet again.

“And I’m Jazz, joinin’ these two for just the evenin’,” the Polyhexian said, twirling on a pede with a flourish. “Together, we’re gonna make sounds that your audials ain’t never heard before… And likely won’t again.” His voice lowered to a purr, and melted into the low rumble that was coming from the speakers on either side of the stage. “And it’s all in the name of peace.” The last word faded out as the rumble grew louder.

Both of the host mechs had lowered their helms to focus on their terminals, and suddenly Prowl was assaulted by sound.

As he suspected, this was not a genre of music that Prowl typically listened to, although he had occasionally heard Jazz listening to it. Jazz called it “subhum combustion,” but to Prowl it just sounded like a lot of noise. Prowl preferred to listen to Praxian chime sonnets as background music while he was working. They were calming and unobtrusive. The music Jazz listened to using his receivers did not qualify as “calming.” Jazz insisted that this style of music wasn’t meant to be used as background music because “you have to focus on what the harmonics are trying to tell you” in order to properly appreciate it. Meanwhile, Prowl did not want music to distract him while he was working, preferring to focus on his analyses.

But now, sitting in the VIP section just a few dozen meters away from the speakers, Prowl could do nothing but focus on the music… And he was awestruck by what he heard.

It was loud, yes. It was jarring, yes. It was dissonant, by the Primes, **yes**. But beneath the noise wove a rhythm that used the beats of the actual sound waves as their timing. Above that were the subharmonics, and they thrummed just below the surface, dipping in and out of range of Prowl’s audials, venturing into the realm of ultrasound. And above that…

Above that was Jazz. 

At first, Prowl didn’t realize that the sounds he was hearing, the sounds that acted as the melody, were coming from Jazz. But when Jazz threw back his helm and appeared to scream into the microphone, Prowl’s door wings shot upwards in surprise. The otherworldly roar that rose over the bass and the beat was plainly coming from Jazz’s vocalizer.

And in counterpoint to the unnatural sounds that he was making, Jazz flitted across the stage, his frame moving with a grace and a power that Prowl was so familiar with. Occasionally, when they interfaced, Jazz would show him what it felt like to move like that, to feel the music on a spark-deep level and to let it guide your actions. It felt like prayer. It felt like flying. It felt like raw power.

Prowl’s optics were locked on the visual of Jazz writhing between the host mechs’ stations, using his frame like a visual instrument. His audials, even with their sensitivity turned down, soaked in the beat and the pulse of the harmonics and the visceral sounds of measured feedback coming from Jazz’s vocalizer. Together, the visuals and the sounds lit a fire in Prowl’s spark. He didn’t understand it at all, but he could not rip his gaze away from the spectacle that his conjunx was making of himself on the stage. It was as though Jazz was visually and acoustically interfacing with everyone in the audience...

And Prowl felt that fire in his spark burn quickly into a rising charge that set his cooling fans spinning and his door wings trembling.

It was plain that Prowl was not the only mech in the stands affected. Even with his sensors dampened and pulling his own field in tight, he could sense the titillation of the crowd around him. Prowl gripped the railing in front of his seat and stared, unable to suppress the tiny shivers of charge that ran through his frame every time Jazz’s voice synched just so with the harmonics. Somehow, his sensor net was pulling in the audio and visuals and combining them in a way that Prowl was sure he had never experienced before.

Prowl wasn’t sure how many songs Jazz and the two host mechs played; one song seemed to bleed into the next with no obvious break between them. But after what his chronometer told him was a full groon, Jazz stopped singing and dancing, and the host mechs lifted their helms from their stations. The three of them stood side-by-side on the stage, lifting their hands to the crowd in a salute before taking a simultaneous bow. They stepped apart: Blaster raised both hands to the crowd, and Soundwave gave an almost shy nod. Jazz just waved again, and all three melted back into the darkness of the stage.

Prowl stood up from his seat and bolted from the stands, heedless of the mechs he tripped over on the way out.

Cutting through the crowds with determination, Prowl flashed the backstage pass at anyone who stepped in his way. As he reached the far wings of the main stage, he sent a ping to Jazz asking for his location. When he received the reply, Prowl spun on his pede and made his way towards an area that was stacked with crates designed to hold the equipment he’d seen on stage.

Prowl was just about to send Jazz another ping when he spotted the white and black musician standing with two stagehands. Jazz caught sight of Prowl, and waved to his companions before walking over to meet Prowl halfway.

::Hey there, Prowler! I was just -:: Jazz’s comm was cut off with a staticky bleat of surprise when Prowl grabbed him by his upper arms and pulled him in for a deep kiss. It was hard and sloppy, dentae crashing together as Prowl sought to sate the charge that had been building in him during the performance. Jazz’s arms flailed out to the side before he melted against Prowl, resting his hands on Prowl’s hips. ::I’m glad to see you too, Prowler. I take it ya liked the set?:: Jazz’s field was rich with amusement and affection.

Finally pulling back from Jazz’s lips, Prowl ran his hand down the side of Jazz’s helm. “That music,” he rasped. “You never told me how... compelling it could be.” Prowl felt strangely careless of all of the mechs walking past them, even though he could see their amusement in their glances as he pawed at his conjunx. Prowl knew that his field was thick with his need; in any other situation Prowl would have been utterly mortified that others might sense his arousal. But in that moment all he could think of was Jazz.

He made a mental note to run a diagnostic later on his interface protocols. 

Jazz grinned at Prowl. ::Sure, I did. Or I tried, anyway.:: Jazz nipped at Prowl’s chin guard with his lips. ::Ya always just complained that it was too loud and had no order, and asked me to listen with my wired receivers. So I did. See what ya were missing?:: Jazz’s field was rich with surprise as the Praxian buried his face in Jazz’s neck cables. ::Whoa, Prowler… Did it really get ya this fired up?:: 

Prowl’s engine whined as Jazz’s hands slip up his back to rest lightly on his door wings. The tips of Jazz’s digits transformed, sharpening into the picks that Jazz used for his instruments, and Prowl shuddered as they grazed his plating. His vocalizer kept shorting out with the charge that was still climbing in his circuits. “It is my... sensor net, I think. Something about seeing... you dance, and the music… It kept feeding back and building up a charge, and –“ Prowl’s knees threatened to buckle when Jazz gently scraped a single digit down the length of his right door wing. “Aaah, Jazz, please…”

To steady himself, Prowl leaned into Jazz. The musician stumbled backwards, and the two of them tripped their way into a gap between two of the large crates. A few more steps, and the gap turned into an alcove. Standing between the crates, they were not completely hidden from anyone passing by, but they were out of the line of traffic as stagehands and assistants bustled past.

Jazz caught the back of Prowl’s helm with a hand and pulled him in for another heated kiss. ::If I didn’t know better I’d think ya wanted to jack into me right here and now.:: When Prowl didn’t reply and only chased after Jazz’s lips, the musician pulled back and fixed Prowl with a steady gaze. ::You do wanna interface right here, don’t ya?:: Jazz frowned slightly. ::Are ya sure? I don’t want ya to do something ya might regret later. I know how shy ya are about interfacing where other mechs could hear ya.::

Jazz’s unease acted as a dampening blanket on Prowl’s charge. Jazz was right; this wasn’t something that Prowl would ordinarily want to do. Jazz could be incredibly loud when they interfaced. He’d always been noisy lover, but ever since he got back into music seriously Jazz’s volume had become something of an issue. It had only taken one knowing smirk from a neighbor in the elevator before Prowl had hired acoustical engineers to soundproof their flat. 

They could wait until later. They could wait until they were safely back in their flat, with no one else around. They could wait until they were all alone, and no one would hear. 

But... 

But the memory of the music, and of Jazz twisting and contorting his frame on stage, in front of all of those mechs, perfectly synched to the thrumming bass, sent Prowl’s charge spiraling upwards again. 

Jazz shifted his weight as he leaned on the crate Prowl had shoved him against, and his hand skated against Prowl’s hip slightly. It was just a light touch, but Prowl’s engine roared as his cooling fans spun up into their highest cycle again. 

“Primus,” Prowl murmured, ignoring the flash of humour in Jazz’s field at the oath. He leaned his chevron against the crest of Jazz’s helm, and his digits picked at the seams running down the side of Jazz’s chest. “Maybe...”

Prowl was going to say that maybe Jazz was right. He was going to say that maybe they should wait. But before Prowl could finish his thought, his tac-net displayed a few results on his HUD from an analysis that it had been running in the background. 

“Jazz,” Prowl said, lifting his helm and staring into Jazz’s visor. “I did not even notice at first, but... Why are you using comms?”

Indicating the upper part of his chest with a hand, Jazz smiled. ::I’ve blown out my vocalizer. It usually burns out a bit when I sing combustion, but the songs we did tonight were pretty heavy-duty. Self-repair oughta take care of it in a few cycles or so, but until then I’m pretty much mute.:: Sudden realization lit up his field, and he grinned. ::Hey, it ain’t always **me** that’s loud…:

Prowl didn’t even need to consult his tac-net to confirm his next, best (and most enjoyable) course of action as he came to the same conclusion that Jazz just had. 

“That is all I needed to know, Jazz, to make sure no one else will hear anything,” Prowl purred, sliding his hand against Jazz’s interface port. He caught Jazz’s lips in another firm kiss before brushing his lips to the side, mouthing Jazz’s helm vent. “You have been rendered incapable of making noise, and I won’t make... Much.” Prowl dismissed his sudden uncertainty at how loud he might end up being, and plucked at one of the bundles of wires he could reach between Jazz’s shoulder plates. “So, please...”

Jazz sent a sparkle of laughter over the comm line as he slid his hip port open. Prowl wasted no time in unspooling his own cable and slotting it into Jazz’s socket. He waited until Jazz did the same, and then let his firewalls fall with a carelessness that ordinarily would have appalled him.

As soon as the handshakes completed and he felt Jazz’s processor threads twining with his, Prowl pulled Jazz’s frame tightly against his. [[I do not understand what that music has done to me, but I need to know more.]] Even if Prowl had wanted to, he could not have held back the wash of need and desire that burned through his circuitry. [[Please, Jazz… Show me how you dance like that. Show me how you make those sounds.]] Even just thinking of the display he’d seen during Jazz’s performance rocketed his charge higher, and Prowl bit his lower lip to silence the whimper that rose in his vocalizer.

The smile on Jazz’s lips was full of mischief as he dragged his sharpened digits up the lower edges of Prowl’s door wings. [[Now that I’m in yer processor, I think I see why Praxian music is so sedate and calming.]] His amusement came through their connection clearly. [[It’s no wonder ya can’t work when listenin’ to anything more excitin’.]] 

Struggling to form coherent thoughts as his processor paired with Jazz’s, Prowl pulled a long trembling vent. [[I can listen to other types of music. And you know that no other songs you have ever played for me caused this sort of reaction. Maybe it was something in the subharmonics, but...]] Prowl pawed at Jazz’s chest armor as he sensed tantalizing glimpses of what the music sounded like to Jazz, with his sound-tuned processor. With an effort, he organized the next glyphs to send through the connection. [[Please, Jazz… I need you.]]

[[A’ight. Buckle up, Prowler.]] And with a brush of lips against Prowl’s cheek, Jazz sent him the memory of the performance he’d just completed.

If Prowl had been overwhelmed by his sensor suite’s reaction to simply listening to the music and seeing Jazz’s physical interpretation of the rhythm, experiencing the sounds erupting from Jazz’s vocalizer first-hand and feeling the exhilaration of moving his frame to it rendered Prowl completely dumbfounded. Prowl’s sensor suite and tac-net had picked up the mathematical play between the different parts of the music, analyzing the patterns and surprises in the beat, and found matches between the sounds and how Jazz moved.

But Jazz’s processor sensed an even deeper level to the music, one that drew him in until his whole self was consumed by the tempo and the harmonies. What had sounded like roar and feedback to Prowl had actually been transmuted glyphs, sung in a melisma up and down the frequencies, transforming them into something weird and strange. And there were processes that ran alongside Jazz’s frame control that instantly converted the music into movement. The patterns that Jazz had danced were almost obscene in their fluidity and grace, but there were also emotions writ in the arch of his back and the skid of his pedes on the ground and the waving of his hands as they fluttered down his sides...

Just before Prowl’s systems reached the point where an overload would cascade through his circuitry, he realized what the songs had been. As sparks flared between his plating, Prowl put together the pieces and matched the glyphs to something he’d read before. He had been trying so hard to stay quiet, but the sudden realization he’d reached startled a sharp laugh from his vocalizer. He sent his mirth back through the connection as his charge peaked, dragging Jazz along with him as he tipped over the edge. A moment later Prowl’s legs gave out from under him as he clung to Jazz, sending them both to the floor in a clatter of plating.

Prowl’s first thought when his processor had completed its soft reboot was that - surely - someone must have heard the noise as they’d tumbled to the ground. His second thought, gently nudged up the queue by Jazz’s presence in his mind, was that there was enough background noise in the staging area that it was more likely that no one had taken any notice of the brief racket.

[[Did that blow off some of that charge for ya, Prowler?]] Jazz lightly probed at Prowl’s diagnostics, answered his own question as Prowl came back to full awareness. He’d landed on top of Prowl, and his hand splayed against Prowl’s hood as he searched Prowl’s face. 

Prowl nodded and ran the back of his hand down the side of Jazz’s helm. [[Yes. Although I think I may need to implement some changes to my sensor suite before I listen to that genre of music again.]] His embarrassment at how deeply it had affected him seeped into their connection, but he didn’t bother trying to suppress it. Jazz would have known already. [[That was extremely enjoyable, but...]] His optics flickered around the alcove they had hidden themselves in. [[I would rather not repeat this indiscretion any time soon.]]

That earned him a wide grin from Jazz. [[I dunno if I agree. Having an ‘instant on’ button for your interface array might be real handy for me, if ya know what I mean.]]

Prowl could feel that Jazz was kidding. Mostly. [[In the proper time and place, yes... I could see the benefit.]] He pushed himself up to a sitting position and flared out his door wings, making sure that no one had stopped to peer at the lovers as they lie tangled with their cords plugged into each other’s arrays. He could sense mechs just on the other side of the crates they’d used as shelter, but he couldn’t hear any laughter or other indication that their tryst had been observed.

When he’d assured himself that no one had heard (or if they had, they had ignored it or pretended not to hear), Prowl hugged Jazz close to him again. [[Those songs… Does Ultra Magnus know what you’ve done with his work?]] He sent Jazz his amusement at the choice of text that had been used for the set’s lyrics.

[[Sorta? Maybe? A’ight, not really.]] Jazz’s smile and the tang of his field spoke clearly of not giving a rusted bolt what the lyric’s original author may have thought of having his work used this way. [[I asked him a vorn ago or so whether I could use some of the chapters from Terms of Peace in a song. He said sure, and just asked me to send him a copy of the song when I finished it.]] His slag-eating grin widened. [[I was gonna send him a vid of tonight’s performance. Do ya think he’ll like it?]]

Prowl laughed as he stood and helped Jazz to his pedes. [[No. He will hate it. And I want to be there when you show him the vid.]]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The band name was directly inspired by [this piece of art from Soundwaver1984](https://www.deviantart.com/soundwaver1984/art/We-are-the-sound-systems-373163892).


End file.
